Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

The fourteenth day of the men’s sojourn on the island

Sitting at the open doorway, Viggo turned his face to the sun.

Working long hours in the confined mineshafts, it had seemed a rebirth of sorts to emerge from the depths into the light. The thought of breathing fresh air had sustained him; that and the hope of the day’s warmth to welcome him.

Not that such things were guaranteed in Skálavík. Even at the height of summer, when the sun barely dipped below the horizon, the fjord was as likely to be drenched in rain as blazing sunshine.

It bathed him now, strong enough to burn, but he resolutely held himself in the same position, reveling in the sensation.

Soon, he would feel nothing—neither cold nor heat.

Nor the touch of her lips.

He shook that thought away.

It would be a relief, wouldn’t it… when the time came for all this to end?

I’m damned! Damned to the shadows… until she finishes me.

There was no denying what lay in his heart—a desolation stronger than any comfort Signy might offer.

He was no fool. However much he craved her touch and the soft lilt of her voice, this couldn’t continue.

The tide was high, waves brushing the stones upon the far side of the dunes in a rhythm as regular as his own breathing. But while the sea might be eternal, his span would soon cease. There could be no other way.

Only when she was with him did consolation come, and he allowed himself to believe, for a short while…

Nay! ‘Tis futile!

Signy had departed some time before. He couldn’t say when. The hours lacked substance in the darkness.

She was visiting her cousin, she’d said.

As if she needed to provide an excuse! ‘Twas a wonder she stomached spending as much time with him as she did. Leaving was no doubt a relief to her, as sought after as his own escape from the cloying, deadened air of the mines. She must feel suffocated here with him.

Why she bothered with him, he couldn’t fathom. As to the affection she bestowed, he knew it must be feigned.

She hadn’t hidden her desire for a child, and he knew she sought his seed for the purpose, but that didn’t explain her soft murmurs after coupling nor the way her fingers trailed across his skin. He wanted to believe she craved the intimacy, that she’d come to long for him the way he wanted her…

Again, you torment yourself. Fool!

Such a woman can take any man as her husband. Why should she want me—weak and useless!

‘Twas a wretched truth, that she’d be better off without him.

The gods were punishing him, and he knew full why. They’d bided their time, but they were showing him there was no escape from his sins.

Not for him a swift death, such as had come to his brothers. This anguish was far more piercing. A slow, drawn-out torture. Misery conjured not just from blindness but from bittersweet yearning.

Oh, yes. The gods were clever!

This punishment was surely of Loki’s design—a cruel joke to show him what could never be his.

A woman perfect beyond my dreams, incapable of loving what I’ve become!

He knew it was true. Not a day went by when she didn’t speak of him healing. It was all she could think of, wasn’t it, whispering that, given time, his vision would improve?

She’d implied as much whenever he held her, cradling her flesh against his. Only then would he be worthy of her love. Only then, could they have a future…

But no.

The air grew chill, as though the sun could not bear to witness his woe and had slid behind a cloud.

Remember the bargain we struck. There can be no future.

The thought stirred unease in his stomach.

Despite knowing there must be an end to what was between them, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

“Viggo!”

He started at the unexpected interruption. “Who is it?”

The male voice was familiar, but it had been days since he’d spoken to another man.

“Come now! You don’t recognize your own jarl? I’d heard you’d lost your vision but not your mind.”

Viggo sighed. The company was welcome—anything to break the monotony of his day—but he and Eldberg shared a strained relationship. He respected his chieftain, but he was under no illusion that Eldberg viewed him as a true friend. The contract they’d struck—for Viggo to return to the family homestead—was as much for his jarl’s benefit as his own.

Viggo was grateful, but the bargain relied upon him being fit and able. Eldberg would have no compunction in allocating it to another. Until then, his own livestock grazed the pasture.

“Let me sit with you.”

Viggo sensed the weight of the other man settle beside him.

“I’ve news to share.”

“What news?” Viggo turned in Eldberg’s direction. It was strange to speak to someone other than Signy after so long. “Are you well?”

“Yes, yes!” Eldberg dismissed his concerns. “Those of us who remain are healing—and helping where we can.”

Helping? They’re fit and well, then, while I…

Eldberg interrupted his thoughts. “I hear you’ve some minor trouble with your vision. A ruse to gain sympathy, is it? A cunning plan all round. You’re getting on with the wench who houses you? Getting friendly, eh?”

The pulse in Viggo’s temple intensified. He didn’t appreciate Eldberg’s inference that he was feigning his lack of sight, nor the way Eldberg spoke of Signy.

“She’s patient and considerate, with a kind heart. As much as any man might deserve.”

“Kind?” Eldberg’s tone was laced with scorn. “Never mind kind! Are you bedding the woman? That’s what counts!”

Viggo bit his tongue. None of this was Eldberg’s business, but it wouldn’t be wise to answer curtly. His jarl could make things difficult for him, and for Signy, if he’d a mind. No doubt, he was already in talks with the leader of this place, winding events in his favor.

“I am.” Viggo spoke through a clenched jaw.

“Good man!” Eldberg slapped him roughly on the shoulder. “Win her over with pleasure. These women may prove valuable for more than fucking. When we leave, I expect their cooperation.”

Excitement was evident in Eldberg’s hushed voice. “We plan to make our escape, but since we’re so few, we’ll need a number of the wenches to aid us. Keep this to yourself until the time comes. I’m even keeping my Hedda in the dark.”

Leave? A swell of panic took hold, sending bile to Viggo’s throat. I can’t. Not like this!

“Is there such a rush?” Viggo loathed his obvious despair. “You know… my eyes fail me.”

“Overcome the impediment.” His jarl was curt. “We’ve no time for such indulgences.”

Indulgences? Did Eldberg presume he’d chosen to lose his sight?

“Straighten up! We’re returning to Skálavík, and I need every man fit and capable. Consider that an order.”

Viggo slumped forward. There was no point in arguing when his jarl was in such a mood. Eldberg was accustomed to getting his own way, regardless of others’ wishes.

‘Twas strange though, that he placed importance on these women. Eldberg was skilled enough with words to make some arrangement for their departure, yet he’d used the word ‘escape.’

It made not a bit of sense.

“Is something amiss?” Viggo grasped Eldberg’s sleeve. “Tell me, I beg you. Why such secrecy?”

“The details are of no consequence.” Brushing away Viggo’s hand, he rose.

“Pull yourself together and ensure the wench who houses you is ready to help us. I’ll bring word when the time comes.” Eldberg was irritatingly upbeat, clearly pleased with himself.

“Until then.” He called behind him, leaving Viggo alone once more.

Eldberg was a callous bastard. He needed him at the oars, nothing more. Even without his sight, it was a task Viggo might perform. As to afterward, he’d no doubt of what would happen. There would be no place for him in Skálavík. He’d be an outcast, forsaken and reviled. None would care what became of him.

Cold dread crept through his veins.

He was no one unless he could see. A worthless cur!

He’d known it before, but the sting hadn’t seemed so cruel until Eldberg had underpinned the point.

He should have told his jarl to go without him, should have stood up to him. Instead, he’d let Eldberg walk away without so much as a word of protest.

Damn. Viggo dug his fingers into his temples, almost taking pleasure in the resulting stab of pain. Damn Eldberg, and damn me!

As to luring a woman with duplicity, it was not Viggo’s style. Regardless of his jarl’s orders, he didn’t want to lie to Signy.

Not that it matters. Not if I’ve departed this world before Eldberg leaves.

Nothing matters.

A scuffing of sand roused him to raise his head.

“Signy?” His heart lifted.

“Tis I, Rutger.” The other’s voice was all but a whisper as he crouched beside. “I shouldn’t have come, but I heard of your ailment. I’m sorry, Viggo.”

“Yes, well…” Rutger was a good sort, but Viggo couldn’t suppress a pang of disappointment that ‘twas another of the men.

Where was Signy?

“For myself, I got off lightly. Three fingers broken—but on the left, thank Odin! ‘Tis not so bad now.” Rutger sounded remarkably cheerful. “I’ve had my right for anything that matters. Grethe, my woman, has no complaints. One working finger is all I need to whet her appetite!” He gave a barking laugh at his own bawdy joke.

“Is your wench as amenable?” Rutger gave him a nudge. “Your staff’s getting some action while you heal?”

Viggo squeezed his eyes shut. He liked Rutger and knew he spoke only in jest, but after Eldberg’s visit, he grew weary of hearing the woman he longed for referred to in such crude terms. “I’m well looked after.”

“I’m… glad.” Rutger gave an awkward cough. “I… Perhaps I should leave you to rest.”

“Do that!” Rutger might mean no harm, but Viggo was tired of what passed for his humor.

Rutger said nothing more, slipping away as quickly as he’d appeared. Viggo had wished him gone, but left to himself, his mood immediately plummeted.

There was no point in friendship for those entirely lost.

Eldberg and the others might set sail for Skálavík, but Viggo would not be among them.

The place to which he was headed was a far more permanent destination.